


Abreaction

by Moistest



Category: The Watcher (2000)
Genre: AU, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Drug Abuse, Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Memory Loss, Personality Disorders, Polly is an integral character to the story, Suicide Attempt, We're veering way off canon folks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:01:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25441303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moistest/pseuds/Moistest
Summary: An AU where David is Polly's adoptive brother, who has lost most of his long term memory due to an attempted suicide, he left no note and their relationship was strained at the time, so why David did it is a mystery. He's been okay with that. For the most part. He has many questions about his past. Including why he has a box filled with voyeuristic surveillance photos of a blond man he does not know. His best guess is that it's the same man who called his landline demanding to be left alone, the week after the accident. And when, years later, David crosses paths with the man again, purely by coincidence mind you, his curiosity is far too strong to ignore. He was never one known for having self control. Polly will have to not only be her brother's voice of reason, but Joel's as well. Joel wants nothing to do with David, he has his own shit going on. Like recovering from a meth and alcohol addiction. He's just gotten sober. He doesn't need whatever shit David has to bring with him. But here's the thing. Addiction often needs to be curbed through refocusing an obsession, restlessness, and misery. And Joel isn't just miserable, he's bored to death. David is a shitshow, but Joel's already bought first row tickets for it.
Relationships: Joel Campbell/David Griffin
Comments: 8
Kudos: 10





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work in progress. Instead of going to therapy myself, I thought I'd write the most self indulgent story possible, starring two characters with about as much popularity as a wet blanket on a cold humid evening. Maybe if I write down what I wanted from their dynamic out of the movie, they'll finally leave me the fuck alone. I'm going to write this whether I've got an audience or not, but it would be nice to know if there's an interest for this. Rating subject to change to include explicit sexual content. Though the focus remains whatever plot I'm going to pull out of my ass.

David was sitting opposite a stack of photos neatly placed inside an unremarkable aluminium box, chin in hand. It wasn’t for the first time he found himself in this position, and each time he did so, the contents of the box seemed to offend him with increasing severity. He’s owned the box for years, but his earliest recollection of it is when he first found it at the far end of his closet roughly decade and a half ago.

David is 37 years old, last he glanced at his driver’s licence. He only recalls fifteen of those years, however. He’s been in therapy for as many years. At first, both physical, and mental. Physical therapy lasted seven years, regular therapy is ongoing. Which is irritating every now and again, but he’s resigned himself to it. Once he was off suicide watch, and succeeded in thoroughly satisfying his psychologist that he was no longer a danger to himself or others, all that was left to deal with were his impulse control and anger management.

“Oh good, you’re home.” A voice startles David out of his melancholy and he switches his gaze up towards the front door where his sister had just entered. Polly shrugs off her winter wear and sets down her purse, before turning towards her adopted brother. It was strange, having a sister he was not only unrelated to by blood, but also knew for less than half his life.

But she had been there all those years ago when he woke up in a hospital bed, having attempted suicide, but not knowing why. Not knowing much of anything, actually. Apparently it had been an explosion, severe enough to cause catastrophic brain injury and memory loss. David had to relearn how to walk, undergone several skin grafts, and some speech therapy. During which Polly stood by, as his only living kin and for a time, legal guardian with power of attorney. Polly is a psychologist herself, and had been a blessing in disguise. Readily accepting him without taking advantage of him, or crowding him. They’d been close before the accident, but they grew even more close afterwards. Not that David really knew the difference. He had retained most long-term memories, a hazy recollection of his childhood, but not much else. Nothing substantial enough to be of any use. His short term memory on the other hand, took months to return, but thankfully wasn’t more damaged than it could have been. Polly helped fill in the gaps that doctors couldn’t.

“I’ve been debating on just throwing these away. But I hadn’t shown you yet, and I thought it was only fair.” David stated when he saw Polly pause mid-stride to join him in the living room.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m really sick of them, to be honest.” David had overcome his accident and accepted its consequences. His personality had been stripped to its bare bones and the meat that regrew wasn’t quite like his old self. That was fine. The biggest hangup David had with the whole situation is that he still didn’t know _why_ he had tried to end it all. But he knew those pictures had some sort of connection, no matter how vague.

When Polly finally sat beside him, David let out a sigh and gestured towards the box. “I mean, you already know what it’s about, may as well see them in all their shitastic glory.”

The pictures in question, couldn’t be considered anything but stalker-ish. Their subject consisted of a single person, and they weren’t the type of pictures you got from photoshoots, they held a surveillance feel to them, with photos containing not just the person themselves, but also what appeared to be their car, workplace, dining locations. One or two had breached on downright voyeuristic. But they weren’t part of the pile Polly was currently scanning through. David had torn them up in a fit of shame and self directed anger. Polly didn’t know about those, but she knew he had destroyed some.

“So that’s the guy, huh?”

“Yup.”

“I only ever heard his voice, when he had called to tell you to leave him the fuck alone a few days after your accident. Threatened legal action, but it never came. Told him you were in an accident and we didn’t think you’d make it.”

“I almost feel bad to disappoint him there.”

“Don’t even joke.” But the warning held no real bite. Polly was strict with her brother on that particular matter, but she also knew how he could be. The extent of which only really revealed themselves after his accident. It had been such a mess and she did her damnedest to clean it up. Reaching out to colleagues to find him a top notch specialist in behavioural disorders. David had a habit of obsessing over things, people. The stacks of Kodak photos of the dusty-colour haired man were proof enough of that. Polly had on occasion, voiced her belief that in spite of everything, the accident had ensured that David get the sort of therapy that resulted in what could have been a decidedly dangerous personality flaw turn into a more manageable inconvenience.

Rather than ruminate on the various things that brought on venomous bitterness, David was now able to take a step back and examine his impulses before they crossed a moral point of no return.

“So what makes you suddenly decide to clear these out?” Therapy had certainly helped David come to terms with just how annoyingly perceptive his sister was. Something had to have happened to bring this all up because she knew just as well as he did that David was content to let the box collect dust at the far side of his closet. A begrudging token of his pre-accident past. A glimpse into answers he didn’t know the questions to.

“I ran into him today.”

There was a long stretch of silence.

“You _what_?”

“I promise you it was purely by accident.”

“ _How_?” David knew she was more concerned than she was accusatory. She had to be sure, though.

“Dr. Burkett’s office is temporarily being relocated due to renovations to the office building,” David began to explain. “So the office is now located at the end of a hallway shared by other doctors, one of which holds an addicts anonymous meeting. Passing by, I recognized him, but he didn’t seem to see me.”

Polly pursed her lips until they were a thin line. Nothing good could come out if this. Even if the gap in David’s memory took with it whatever was behind David’s obsession with this man, it didn’t mean that proximity to him couldn’t suddenly reignite it. This was bad.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Major apologies for the delay. I struggled a lot with this one, scrapped the whole thing, re-wrote it, and almost scrapped it again. I'm still invested in this, but the next work might take a while as I try to figure this out.

Joel hated going to group sobriety counselling. It was bad enough that he was required to go to them if he wanted to keep his job, but his boss hand-picked his sponsor, another member of the group he was in, and thus was able to know whether or not he participated in the activities. Unlike official AA meetings, there wasn’t the added anonymity, making Hollis’ spy not only acceptable, but encouraged. Joel couldn’t skip participation even if he tried; and he had.

As underhanded as it was, it was also a method that worked. Joel has been more steadily sober in the past several months, than he has been in years. His drug of choice was meth, and although he hadn’t touched that particular vice in two years, Joel had been- has been struggling with alcohol. With a felony charge on his record, there weren’t many job options for him. Thankfully, Hollis, his then parole officer, had been looking to retire. And retirement for a man like Hollis meant starting a nightclub security business, where he would hire down on their luck felons as bouncers or sanitary workers. Joel picked bouncer. The pay was shit, but it was his best option by far.

Hollis was a hardass, but he cared. Which meant that when Joel started coming in late, or hungover, rather than fire him, Hollis gave him the ultimatum of going to group therapy, or get downgraded to sanitary worker. The pay dock was small, but being the janitor meant cleaning up all manners of bodily fluids. At least as a bouncer, Joel could let off some steam by taking out his anger on drunken patrons. So long as he didn’t throw the first punch, violence was tolerated to a surprising degree. Hollis didn’t have a three strike policy, per se, some had fewer chances, some had more, he was the type of man that relied on his judge of character rather than rigid systems. It was something Joel appreciated. Addicts are hard to trust, but they were human like anyone else, so compassion and understanding went a long way.

Joel was startled out of his thoughts by the sound of a particularly loud sniff, as one of the people in their group blew their nose.

“Thank you dear. Would anyone else like to share something today?” The group’s counsellor, Mrs. Sandalo, a woman in her mid sixties asked. This counsellor was the kind of person who brought home-made pastries to each session, and called people pet names. Joel often wondered if she grew into her grandmotherly state once she became one, or was one of those people who’ve always been this way.

Joel raised his hand, but not before letting out a long, dramatic sigh.

“If I may,” Mrs. Sandalo nodded, and the people in the little semi-circle all shifted their gaze towards Joel. “My name is Joel, and I’m an alcoholic and addict,” He began, pausing for the chorus of greetings. “As some of you already know, I’m required to come here and share a little something at every meeting. Sometimes I’ve got more elaborate and heartfelt things to say, but today I feel like shit. I had a ‘slip’ in my sobriety over the weekend, meaning I woke up still drunk, threw up on my mattress and floor, went back to sleep, woke up again to take a shower, only to realize I was out of clean towels, and as I dabbed myself dry with the least absorbent comforter in the world, I realized that I would be late for this meeting, for which I hadn’t prepared my obligatory ‘where did I go wrong’ speech, obviously I went wrong the second I went into a liquor store, and I suppose the bright side of all of this is that at least it was alcohol, and not meth.”

There was an awkward silence, Mrs. Sandalo pursed her lips before she responded.

“Thank you, Joel, as much as I wish you weren’t so brash, you do adhere to the conditions you’ve been given, I admire that. And I’m proud of you for coming today despite having drank. I’m sorry to hear you slipped in your sobriety, but as we all know, sobriety isn’t linear, and even if you were being sarcastic, you are right in that this was the lesser of two evils. I hope next week brings us better news, that wraps up today’s meeting, thank you everyone for coming, please don’t hesitate to contact your sponcor if you feel yourself struggling. For newcomers, and as a general reminder for everyone, there are various self help books on the counter right beside the macarons. They’re all free for you to take home.”

All in all, it was one of his better meetings. Mrs. Sandalo had been a counsellor for AA meetings for nearly thirty years, over several states, among which included Nevada, and Florida before switching gears to non-AA affiliated groups. Chicago may not be as wild as those states, but this group in particular had enough members with flare for melodramatics for Joel’s dour attitude to fit right in. He’d been going to these types of meetings for a little over three years now, to this particular group, for a year. Joel had been kicked out of one group, quit two others, the last group was dismantled when the head counsellor quit and no replacement was found.

As Joel weaved his way through people on his way out of the room, and into the hallway leading to the elevator, he felt a tap on his shoulder.

“Excuse me, Joel?” Joel turned around, expecting a chatty group member, but was met with someone that looked familiar, but didn’t recognize. At least not until the man spoke again.

“I don’t think you remember me-” Joel immediately bristled, feeling the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stand on end. He barked out a humourless laugh.

“You’re supposed to be dead.” Or at least a vegetable, but Joel was in no mood to speak, so he turned tail and began shoving his way past the queue of people making their way to the nearly filled elevator. Once inside, he started jabbing the close button, leering at David, who wasn’t quick enough to get in before the doors closed.

Once on the ground floor, his nose nearly touching the elevator doors in his haste to leave, Joel walked out as briskly as he could without running, hating himself for not yet having a car. He was flooded with memories he’d tried his damnedest to bury for the past seventeen years. Outside the building, he tried to cross the street, but there was too much traffic, so he turned left and started walking again. Unfortunately, that gave David enough time to catch up with him, running until he was ahead of him.

“Don’t you have other people to stalk, Mr hotshot P. I.?”

“P. I.?”

“Enough with the charades, I know all about how you got hired to spy on Lisa.”

“Who’s Lisa?” That finally made Joel stop, his anger momentarily stalled by the genuine confusion on the other man’s face.

“What the hell do you mean, ‘who’s Lisa’? Her husband hired you to find out who she was having an affair with. How in the hell you even got licenced in the first place is beyond me. The moment I entered the picture, you stopped following her and started following me.” The confusion on David’s face only deepened. He opened his mouth as if to say something, closed it, then opened it again.

“I should start this by saying I have no idea what you’re talking about. The accident didn’t kill me, but it wiped out a chunk of my memories.” Joel’s eyes narrowed.

“Amnesia? You really expect me to believe you got amnesia?” His anger returned, and he shoved past David to continue his escape. David followed, this time keeping pace rather than getting ahead of him or blocking his way.

“I don’t expect you to believe me, which is fair. Even if I am a little relieved that I was actually hired to take those photos, it’s still bad but-” Joel’s anger flared instantly, and he stopped again.

“If what you’re saying is true- and I don’t fucking believe you, then you’ve still got photos of me?” He’d meant for the statement to be solely accusatory, but it came out like a question. He didn’t wait for an answer, starting to walk again. “Which means this is more fucked up than I thought. Fifteen years? You had photos of me for fifteen years?? What- jerking off to pictures isn’t enough anymore so you decided to stalk me again?”

“I never-” David hesitated a moment. He could only vouch for his post-accident self. “I didn’t keep those out of some perverse pleasure.” He wanted to say so many things at once that he went silent, still following the other man.

“I’m so relieved.” Joel’s sarcasm was palpable, he made a sharp turn onto the street, no longer caring about the traffic. A van narrowly missed him, causing the car behind it to skid to a stop, its driver blaring its horn. Joel continued on, waving a dismissing hand at the angry drivers, muttering: “Yeah, fuck you too.” as David continued to follow him.

“Why are you still following me?” Joel shot over his shoulder. At that David stopped, why was he following him? This was ridiculous- unhealthy even.

“Okay.” David said to himself, rather than Joel. “Just to let you know, I have appointments in the same building you do.” He shouted loud enough for Joel to hear, whom was now several meters away. He needed to think of another way to speak to him.


End file.
